


Maybe I'll Remember With You

by Benedryl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benedryl/pseuds/Benedryl
Summary: Stiles' life involves more than just the Supernatural, even if werewolves seem to take over every other aspect of his life. While his life within his pack seems to be improving, his relationship with his father is slowly deteriorating. With his father falling back into old habits, and a weird friends (acquaintances?) with benefits relationship going on with Derek, Stiles wonders if anything will ever be stable in his life.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	Maybe I'll Remember With You

**Author's Note:**

> Was a drabble I started, and at this point just need to post before I go crazy trying to fix plot points. Enjoy!

‘In the figure above, triangle ABC is inscribed in the circle with center O and diameter AC. If AB = AO, what is the degree measure of ABO?’  
Stiles groaned and let his head collapse down onto his keyboard. His eyes were beginning to ache and subtly burn, his body’s way of telling him, ‘hey loser, four hours of sleep a day for the week is not good enough.’ He decided giving his eyes a five-minute break wouldn’t hurt. And it would only be a five-minute break, not one of those times where he woke up in the morning after giving his eyes a break only to be greeted with a creaky neck and sore back.   
tink  
Stiles knew he needed to stay up longer. He had only gotten a 1500 on his last SAT attempt. And yes, he could already imagine Scott gaping and rolling his eyes at him for being so upset with a basically perfect score. But basically was not good enough, especially if he wanted a good enough scholarship. He had to be better than good enough.   
tink  
Besides, Lydia had managed to get a 1580 on her first try. Without studying. And yes, Stiles knew she was better than him: more intelligent, prettier, not as annoying. But Stiles liked to imagine that he could compare on some levels, right?  
Tink, thunk.  
He let out a quick sigh and mumbled under his breath, “God just come in already for God’s sake.”  
One time. One time he had complained about how Derek always entered without asking. And it was only because he had jumped through the window to get an eyeful of a very naked Stiles amidst some very naked Stiles activities. Some very enthusiastic, naked Stiles activities. At the very least, Derek had seen fit to join in. But sometimes he just wanted privacy damn it! Vampires must ask before entering an abode, why is that only limited to them? Why don’t werewolves have to bark a greeting? Whack their tail against the window? Derek now felt it necessary to pitch pebbles at Stiles’ window, even though said window is always open, and they’ve been sleeping in the same bed together every other night for months. Stiles didn’t mention it, but he was pretty sure Derek just had a secret romantic side and liked recreating scenes from rom-coms. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken the window yet though.   
Stiles opened his eyes to see a sideways Derek giving him a look. Thankfully, it wasn’t the patented murderous, ‘I’m going to kill you look’. Sadly, it also wasn’t the sappy, ‘OMG I’m so in love with you’, or the smoldering, ‘if I don’t have sex with you right now, I’m going to die’ look. Not that Stiles had ever been on the receiving end of any of those besides the death one.  
It was the plain (and typical), ‘You’re an absolute dolt’ look.   
“It’s three in the morning.”   
Stiles gestured towards the computer, “Would you like to read me the general concepts of geometry while I sleep so I can absorb it in my dreams? Because otherwise, I need to study at some point.”  
“Aren’t you in Calculus?”  
Stiles finally sat up and leaned back in his chair, nodding. “But it isn’t like I can flash back to middle school to remember all this shit. My mind is a computer, and some things belong in the trash so I can have room for things like useless shit Derek needs research on.”  
“Or Riley Reid’s entire film selection?”   
“Hey! We said we’d never speak of that again.”   
Derek paused and closed his eyes for a breath, which was his version of rolling his eyes. He walked towards Stiles and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, leaning his nose down towards the top of his head to scent him. Stiles used to make fun of him for it, but the one time he had brought it up to Derek he had growled at him to leave it alone. Stiles hadn’t brought it up again, chalking it up to a wolf thing. Besides, he found it more calming than he probably should and wasn’t objecting any time soon.   
“You need to stop staying up so late, you’re scent reeks of exhaustion.”  
Wasn’t like he was going to tell Derek that he only slept well when he was here. That certainly went past the casual ‘friends with benefits’ thing they had going on.   
“Well you’re the one who’s had me researching pixies for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to find accurate information on them that isn’t Harry Potter related? Not to mention their specific weaknesses. Not like I can just type into Google: hey how do I kill this supposedly fake creature?”  
Derek noses at the back of his neck. The pressure momentarily distracts Stiles, before he pushes forward into his rant. “I swear you guys have no appreciation for how much work actually goes into research. Deaton is hardly cooperative on the best of days, and he was worse than usual this week. I swear the guy gets off on being secretive and mysterious. Kind of like how I used to think you got off on being broody and mysterious, but now I realize you just get off on me.”  
Stiles turned around in his chair and gave Derek a smirk. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and leaned in. Derek crouched and pressed his forehead against Stiles.   
“Besides, there’s lacrosse, and school, and the SAT, and college applications, and Jackson being a prick, and pack dynamics, and…”  
Derek pressed forward, cutting him off. Their lips gently meld together, with an unfamiliar tenderness. The heat it brings reminds Stiles of drinking hot chocolate on a winter day, or movie nights with the pack all shoved together on the same coach. He was already surprised when Derek had initiated the deal in the first place. It was all hot and heavy, but this? Stiles had no idea what to think of it. Derek gently pulled away, despite Stiles’ scarce whimper, more like a high breath. He leaned in for one more quick peck, before spinning Stiles’ arm from around his neck and walking around to pry him from the grips of his chair.   
“I swear if I come up here one day to find you dead in front of your computer from exhaustion.”  
“Wow so little faith in me, I hang out with werewolves on the daily but die from school? Lame.”  
Derek pushes Stiles towards the bed, causing him to flop down on top of it. Derek sits, prying off his shoes before collapsing down on the opposite side. Stiles tiredly uses his legs to try and pry his jeans off whilst simultaneously pulling his shirt over his head. Somehow in the time it took Stiles to do all of that, Derek has already stripped to his boxers and settles under his covers.  
At first Derek would just come over to bother him for research, then it had morphed into doing stuff. Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure how having sex had become Derek coming over just to have sleepovers. The twin sized bed had been a problem in the beginning, but they had to manage it. Stiles had tried to convince Derek to buy him a new bed, but Derek had pointed out the Sheriff would wonder how Stiles could afford a new bed when he didn’t have a job. Plus, Derek claimed with a smirk, he wasn’t his sugar daddy yet.   
The system they had figured out was Derek would situate himself, before Stiles essentially collapsed on top of him. Derek would fit one of his legs in between Stiles, while Stiles would relax back into Derek’s chest. His bicep was reduced to a glorified pillow.   
Stiles sighed and actively tried to release the tension from his body, letting himself relax with Derek. He closed his eyes, unconsciously tracing patterns onto Derek’s forearms while he began drifting. But then, he felt Derek stiffen behind him. Confused, Stiles begins to turn around in the embrace, but Derek just holds him tighter.   
It all makes sense when Stiles hears the clatter of glass bottles falling and his dad’s muffled cursing while tripping up the stairs. Stiles lets out a breath, ignoring the now familiar sounds. He closes his eyes again.  
Derek begins nosing his neck, gently laying kisses up and down, then towards the crevice behind his ear. “You know you can tell me anything, right? No judgement.”   
Stiles feels his heart twist but refuses to look into it. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want it to interrupt these moments, this safe space he and Derek and cultivated over the months. Despite all the shit in their outside lives, the monsters, the constant tremulous state of the pack, they could always return here and be okay.   
“I think you’re reading into things. Isn’t that my job? Don’t go breaking that pretty head of yours.”  
His heart skips a beat. He hears Derek huff behind him, and the resulting tension which follows. Derek didn’t want to break their space either, no matter how much the topic needed to be acknowledged.   
They both lay in the dark, settling into each other once again. As they both are on the edge of sleep, Stiles whispers into the void, “I know, Derek.”  
\---  
When he woke up Derek was strangling him. This happened nearly every morning, but it was nonetheless annoying. Likely in the night, Stiles had managed to escape, rolling to the other side of the bed. Of course, Derek was like a leech and moved with him. Hence the predicament Stiles was currently in. That being trapped underneath Derek’s godlike arms.   
He had already laid there for fifteen minutes. In the past he would’ve been perfectly fine, nay, entirely too eager to snuggle back into Derek’s chest and perhaps sleep through school.  
But he knew he had to clean up whatever mess awaited him downstairs. He quickly kissed the back of Derek’s hand before gently lifting his arm off his body and moving it to the side. He quietly pushed himself upright and creeped out of the bed. He glanced at the clock, 6:30.  
Stiles hated leaving him, but knew he would see him later that evening anyway.  
He sighed upon entering the living room. The rise of the sun allowed streams of light to illuminate the scattered presence of the space. It distorted through the copious glass beer bottles sloppily surrounding the coach. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine his dad mindlessly watching old baseball games, eyes glazed over as he thoughtlessly finished off his nth beer and flung it to the side. Ten-year-old him entering the room…  
Shaking his head to clear the though, he quickly began walking around the couch collecting the bottles, his arms all too soon overflowing. The pillows were scattered, but that was quickly remedied. He picked up the empty leftover containers on the coffee table, the mixing ingredients on the kitchen counter. Finally, he went to check the alcohol cabinet, observing the differences in the levels of the alcohol. Particularly the vodka: his dad had always been partial to it. Somehow the evanescent simplicity of it reminded him of better times. Like life was better when it was simple.  
He was going through it at a rate Stiles hadn’t seen since he was little. The little line he had marked on the back showed it. It was getting worse. And Stiles had no idea how to stop it. His heart started pounding and breath shortening. He couldn’t go back to it, he couldn’t. Not again. But nobody could know. His dad’s reputation... it couldn’t handle it. The walls felt like they were closing in, squeezing and confining his body, making his head feel like it was going to explode.   
Abruptly, he heard the creaking of the third step from the top of the stairs. Fuck. He hated dealing with his dad in the mornings. Previously he had unintentionally adopted a system of avoidance. His dad could read him like the back of his hand, and with Stiles’ blabbering he knew he would spit out something about werewolves accidently and be sent to the looney bin. Sometimes at night he couldn’t help but wonder if his avoidance had been the thing to propel his dad back into drinking.   
Now the avoidance was intentional.   
His dad appeared in the kitchen and grunted at him. He looked worse for the wear, although his uniform gave the appearance of nothing being out of the ordinary. But Stiles was his son and noticed the things others never would. The slight scruff he was developing from not shaving, the scruffiness of his hair, the additional lines surrounding his eyes, and the increase in depth of his frown lines. His eyes were dimmed, and the bags beneath his eyes were deep (like father like son).   
After the first time, his dad had carefully cultivated his relationship with him. He tried making them breakfast, having them eat together. Anything to reestablish an air of normality between them. But now the distance was practically tangible. His dad just grabbed his coffee and shoved past him out the kitchen.   
He felt like he was ten again, being ignored in the face of his mother’s death. Like all his dad saw when he looked at him were the shades of the past, ghosts of what could have been.   
Stiles clenched his hands into fists and gulped down the panic trying to escape from his chest. He didn’t have time to worry about this. Climbing up the stairs he prayed that Derek wasn’t still in his room. He didn’t think he could maintain an air of normality around him right now. Everything was so new between them. It was casual, the only purely enjoyable thing in either of their lives. Stiles had no right to ruin that for Derek. Derek wasn’t here to deal with Stiles’ problems. And it wasn’t even a problem yet. Nothing had happened.   
Thankfully Derek was gone. Stiles scrubbed himself in the shower, desperate to get the any lingering smell of alcohol off him before encountering the wolves at school. Evidently, he had taken way too long; he had to shove his notebook and textbook into his back while sweeping the first shirt he saw on the floor on and running out the door to get to school on time.   
And if his dad hadn’t said goodbye from the kitchen table while he ran out, he didn’t notice. It had been a while since such cordialities had happened anyway.   
\---  
Stiles grabbed his psychology book and put it in his bag, slamming his locker in the process. As his eyes travel up from the ground, he flinches at the sight of Jackson doing his signature morning glare. His eyes were squinting not only from a slight hatred, but also from a slight unwillingness to face the morning.  
Ever since they’d faced the ghost which had been haunting the old hale house, he’d been slightly more amiable towards him. If anything, they were almost friends. Not that Jackson would ever admit it.  
“You smell like shit, Stilinski.”  
Stiles shoved his bag and started pacing down the crowded morning hallway. He knew Jackson would be more than able to keep up with his damn perfect legs. Unlike his scrawny ones.  
“Jackson you certainly do brighten my morning. I do so love to see your cheery face. How are you this fine day?”  
Jackson rolled his eyes just as Scott hastened up to join them. He uses Stiles shoulders to propel himself in between the two.  
“I mean, hate to break it to ya Stiles, but you certainly don’t smell like roses.”   
“Not like I’d wanna smell like your girlfriend anyway Scott,” murmured Stiles.   
Scotts face broke out into a dopey smile, “Why not? She smells the best. It’s like a mixture of… well I can’t even describe it. I just know it’s the best thing- “  
Stiles and Jackson glance at each other, giving mutual expressions of ‘I can’t deal with this shit.’  
“Ight Scott shut up,” Jackson breaks in, “I did not come to talk to you two losers of your love life. Or, lack of love life in your case Stilinski.”  
“Oh yeah Jackson? Last I heard Lydia wasn’t even talking to you.”  
A moment of tense silence.  
“Well at least I haven’t been using my hand for the past seventeen years of my life.”  
“Oh, just your sex toys then? I personally could never partake, always was a bit much for me, but I can see how you would be so interested in- “  
Scott groaned, “If you guys aren’t going to listen to me talk about Allison, then I’m not listening to you guys fight for the millionth time. So shut up, and Jackson just say what you needed to say.”  
As always, Scott seems to have the oddest moments were Stiles could almost glimpse the potential of the leader he could be. The alpha he could be.   
Jackson slows his step and looks around briefly before pushing Stiles and Scott towards the back of the stairwell to the second floor. It’s dark and secluded, suiting the conversation they were likely about to have. Personally, Stiles doesn’t mind the spot, but Scott’s nose grimaces as he undoubtedly smells substances Stiles would rather not know about.  
Ignoring the area altogether, Jackson’s face grows serious, his mouth tightening around the edges. His body shifts in place. “Listen, I thought this would go away but, I think somethings been following me around town.”  
Both Stiles’ and Scott’s eyes widen in shock. “Wait what-“ Scott starts before being interrupted by Jacksons hurried voice. “Not that I can’t take care of myself, of course. But I know Lydia cares about the rest of you and God knows what would happen if whatever it is got a hold of the puny human here.”  
Stiles grins, ignoring the jab. “Awe I didn’t know you cared.”  
“Shut up Stiles,” says Jackson as he punches Stiles in the arm. “Fuck! God, I hate when you all do that.”  
“Well than maybe stop being such a smart ass, smart ass.” He smirks, “besides, I know how weak you are, don’t act like that actually hurt, I know how to pull my punches.”  
The bell rings, indicating the beginning of class in five minutes. Stiles turns to leave, marking the conversation in his head as useless (just like all other conversations with Jackson), before Scott grabs his arm and pulls him back.   
“Jackson, did you tell everybody else about it?” asks Scott.  
“That’s what I was getting to; I already talked to Derek, we’re having a pack meeting tonight at 5 after lacrosse.”  
Stiles groaned.   
“Don’t act disappointed Stilinski we all know you’re excited to stare at my girlfriend for an hour.”  
Maybe Stiles was secretly excited, but it definitely wasn’t to see Lydia. He shook his head and turned around, starting to walk to his class. He waved behind him, only hearing a shout of, “See you losers later!” from Jackson.   
\---  
Lydia plopped down beside Stiles as he stared angrily at Scott’s back. Scott had been talking to Allison for the past five minutes. Jackson had been talking to Isaac and Boyd about lacrosse, which left Stiles sadly alone with no one to talk to. Except Lydia, now.  
“Where’s your food at?” she asked, looking significantly to the empty space in front of him.   
Now paying attention, Stiles suddenly felt the chasm in his stomach. When had been the last time he had eaten? He must have gotten distracted last night with research, he hadn’t had dinner with his dad, and he’s basically run out of the house this morning…  
Lydia must have noticed his hesitation, because she promptly plucked the bag of chips out of her flowered bag and primly placed it down in front of him.  
His mouth dropped open as he glanced over at her, and she waved her had going, “I know I know I’m your Queen. You are certainly welcome.”   
Jackson must have been listening, because he immediately shifted over and said, “You’re my queen.” Stiles mimicked gagging.   
Lydia merely swished her hair over her shoulder, whipping Jackson in the face. Obviously, they were still not on good terms.  
Stiles leaned back in his chair to whisper behind Lydia’s back, “Looks like you still have a lot of sucking up to do Jackson.” Jackson whipped around to glare at him.   
Lydia, picking at her apple, pecan, and blue cheese salad stabs a piece with her fork. “So why are you wearing the same shirt today Stiles?” before biting with a crunch.  
Lydia was never intentionally intimidating, but somehow her voice always had the tone of a threat.   
“I just woke up late. See last night I found this crazy link in the citation section of the Wikipedia article for 14th century witchcraft lore. It led me to this ridiculous page which featured sexy cosplayers of-”  
Lydia cut in, “You wake up late all the time, but you don’t usually wear the same shirt because of it.”  
“Maybe I didn’t do laundry in time and now all I have left are dirty clothes.”  
She stabs her fork down, “You did your laundry a week ago, because you always wear that dumb graphic t-shirt first thing after you do laundry.”  
“Don’t call it dumb! That shirt is a national treasure.”  
“Oh yes Stiles, I’m sure in the future they’ll put your chibi Spiderman graphic tee in the Smithsonian.”  
Jackson chipped in from the side, “Yeah in the idiots of the 21st century section.”  
Lydia shoved Jackson’s face away. “Shut up Jackson.”  
Stiles snickered into his hand. This was him as a fourteen-year old’s dream. If he was still him, he’s sure he would’ve found some inane way to stoop in and steal her heart only with a shoelace and spray paint. Too bad he was a kept man; Lydia is way too good for the likes of Jackson.   
Lydia whipped around to point her hand at Stiles, “And no, you did not subvert the conversation.”  
Suddenly, Scott’s voice intruded, “How come this shirt smells like Derek anyway?”  
Stiles froze while Lydia’s eyes widened and smile began to grow. “Yes Stiles, why does your shirt smell like Derek?”  
Everyone was suddenly looking at him. Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, even Boyd for god’s sake, and Boyd barely ever looks at him!  
Stiles tried to be nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders and saying, “He just came over to check up on some research I’ve been doing for him.”  
Lydia let out a chuff, “Oh yeah? Your research into 14th century porn was for Derek?”  
Stiles face began to redden like a tomato. “It was a different thing…”  
“What could you possibly be researching for him last night? Jackson didn’t tell us about his problem until this morning,” said Scott.  
Jumping on the opportunity, “Oh yeah! Jackson have you told everyone else about the dangerous Spector following you around town?”  
Everyone’s head whipped around to stare at Jackson, who sat there with a frown on his face. “So-,” he began.   
Stiles took thirty seconds to open his Doritos, not wanting to bring the attention back to him from the deafening crinkling of the bag. After shoving a chip in his mouth, he finally looks back at the table. Everyone is still looking at Jackson, except for Lydia who stares unflinchingly into Stiles eyes, looking unimpressed. She raises here eyebrows at him, in a ‘will be talking later’ gesture, before turning her back on him. Stiles swallowed the chip with a gulp.   
He texted Derek.  
Your pack is the worst  
\---  
Of course, today would be the day Senora Gonzalez had them watching a soap opera for Spanish class. While any other day he’d be down for doing nothing in class, he knew he’d be done for the second the lights shut off. He certainly wasn’t entranced with the romance of Diego and Maria. Looking at his teacher’s lovesick expression glued to the tv, he figured this a thinly veiled excuse to catch up with her soap opera on school hours. Rolling his eyes, he propped his head up on his hands. He could do this. Just had to force himself to stay awake. It’d be easy, just keep thinking, keep paying attention…  
He startled awake to the shrieking rattle of the bell. Shit. He could feel Romanelli’s angry gaze burning into the back of his head. He quickly got out of his desk and swung his bag on before booking it into the hallway. That was a problem for future Stiles to deal with.  
Loping down the hallway, Stiles knew he didn’t have the capacity to knock people to the dirt for lacrosse. Or perhaps more accurately, be knocked to the ground himself for an hour and a half. The Dorito dust fumes from lunch were wearing off. He needed food, or better yet coffee. Scott would just need to cover for him with Finstock, and that wouldn’t even be that hard to pull off.   
Stiles quickly switched directions and ran down the hallway. He needed to catch Scott before he made it to the locker room.   
“Scott.”  
“Scott!”  
Stiles finally manages to catch his attention. For a werewolf with enhanced senses, he sure is obnoxiously dense sometimes.  
When Scott turns to see him, he breaks out into a grin.  
“Dude! I am so excited for practice today. I heard a rumor that we’re gonna scrimmage and not do endless volleying drills like we’ve done for the past week. God I’ve been needing to get rid of some energy.”  
“Yeah…about that…”  
Scott sighs, “You’re not coming today are you.”  
Stiles grimaces. Not even a question, crap. Scott might be less willing to lie than he thought.  
“I’m sorry man, I’m just so exhausted today.” That wasn’t even a lie, and he knew Scott knew it too. What with his disheveled appearance and the drooping bags under his eyes. He met Scott’s gaze with his best puppy dog eyes on. He was praying inside his head, god, please, please, please.  
“Yeah I noticed you’ve seemed really tired recently. Has everything been all right?”  
“Of course! You know how I am,” he tried a laugh, “always getting stuck in those research binges.”  
Scott seems to hesitate, “yeah, I just- “  
“I’ll even bring you donuts tomorrow for breakfast from Frank’s.”  
Scott broke. “God you didn’t need to bribe me, you knew I’d lie to Finstock for you anyway.” His face split into a wide grin, “but I would never say no to donuts.”   
“I knew I could always count on you buddy!” cheers Stiles, slapping his friend light-heartedly on the back.  
“Yeah, yeah whatever. I want jelly filled!” He responds, waiving his hand in dismissal.   
Stiles practically books it out of there. Yes, he was gonna finally nap, but far be it him who doesn’t take full advantage of his rare free time.   
Yo sourwolf Im comin over early  
-Ok.  
\---  
The door to Derek’s apartment flung open, and Stiles couldn’t help the wide grin that encompassed his face.  
“You know you don’t have to wring the doorbell. Especially more than once,” grumbled Derek. He stood wedged in the front door, blocking Stiles entrance with his solid presence.  
Stiles merely pushed under his arm, used to Derek’s ability to seemingly take up all the space in a room. As he passed, he quipped, “well I could hardly wait a second longer to see your darling smile.”  
Derek seemed to frown harder.  
The apartment was sparsely furnished, as Derek had only moved in about a month ago. Besides that, Stiles had a suspicion Derek had spent more time sleeping in his room than in his own. Nobody in the pack knew, and Derek would kill him if he let it slip, but Derek was quite the cuddler.   
The coach had naught but an old used grey coach with suspicious stains dotting the left seat cushion, and a glass and oak coffee table Derek had bought at the thrift store. There was a tv, for pack night purposes, and the shaggy grey carpet and bean bag Stiles had insisted on. Figured the only interesting parts of the room would be things he had contributed.   
But Stiles was here for two reasons: food and sleep. He stalked into the kitchen, a man on a mission. The kitchen was a remnant of the ‘70s. a faded yellow coated the walls, and the room contained the scent of mothball. Despite the age, Derek was nothing if not a clean freak. The first time Stiles had shown up, he had yelled at him for smearing dirt and Cheeto dust on every available surface. Now Stiles just liked to make a mess to mess with him. Something about the heated anger that filled Derek when it happened...  
He stood staring into the pantry when he felt strong arms wrap themselves around his torso, and a head loop over his shoulder. A kiss pressed itself below his ear, and Stiles felt a warmth flush his cheeks.  
“Are you skipping lacrosse for me?”  
He flipped himself around in Derek’s arms, leaving them circled around his lower back.   
“I’m skipping lacrosse for me actually,” he said. He pressed a quick peck to Derek’s lips before swinging around to grab the box of vanilla wafers and walking away.  
He heard a light growl behind him. “Don’t worry I’ll share them with you, stop pouting.”  
“I’m not pouting, you just keep eating all my food.”  
“Au contraire, I’m encouraging you through my eating prowess to buy more food.”  
“More food… for you?”  
Stiles turned and flashed a bright grin, “Exactly.”  
“I swear you only come here to take advantage of me.”  
“Are you complaining?”  
Derek’s eyes flashed, and he stalked forward. Stiles took a step back, ending up perched on the armchair. Arms ended up on either side of his hips, trapping him with nowhere to go but back.   
“You know I never get tired of you, no matter how annoying you can be.”  
Their lips connect and Stiles feels fully awake for the first time all day. It starts slow; they get reacquainted with each other. The gentle rhythm of Derek, insistent yet patient. Like a conversation between the two of them with no need for words. Derek perfectly responds to him, and when Stiles gently tugs against Derek’s lower lip, Derek understands.  
Derek presses harder and nips. Stiles feels a flash of heat run down his spine. He lets his tongue trace Derek’s lips. Separating his legs, he felt Derek push his muscled thing between his thigh. From there Stiles is lost in the moment, trapped in the inane animal magnetism. A hand moves from his hip and begins tracing its way up and down his spine, before ultimately slipping beneath his shirt. Stiles gently slows, but Derek simply begins making his way down Stiles jaw, down to the small cleft in his shoulder he is so obsessed with. He nips and sucks, and Stiles floats, but knows he can’t do this right now.  
In a significantly breathy voice, “Hey Der?”  
Derek grunts from his position attached to his neck.   
“I really need to sleep.”   
He gently releases and presses one last soft kiss against the spot, before simply setting in the crevice.   
“I know you do; you smell exhausted. I’ve just, missed you.”  
Stiles smirks, “You saw me last night.” He lazily draws a finger up and down Derek’s side, “But I know you can never have enough of the Stile-nator.”  
“The Stile-nator? Seriously Stiles.”  
Stiles grimaced and collapsed backwards onto the couch. “Admittedly not my best.”  
Derek sighed from his position standing over him, but he isn’t fooling anybody. Stiles can see that slight uptick at the corner of his mouth.  
From his sprawled position, Stiles looked up imploringly over the side of the coach. His eyes searched for Derek’s. He tilted his head to the remaining space next to him.  
“Please? I sleep best when you’re around.”  
Derek sighed, but knew he couldn’t resist. He walked over to the coach and lowered the volume on the tv, before gently lifting Stiles up so he could settle beneath him. Stiles proceeded to sprawl himself out on top of Derek. He used his chest as pillow and wiggled a leg in between his thighs. He thought of grabbing a blanket, but Derek acted as his own personal space heater. Derek began gently drawing looping designs up and down Stiles’ arms. His mom used to do that when he was young.  
His mind settled, and he drifted off to sleep. Derek was soon to follow.   
\---  
He woke with a groan as he felt Derek shove his elbow into his side. He opened his eyes with a glare, somehow feeling even groggier than he had when he fell asleep. Derek entered his line of sight.   
“Why’d you wake me up?” he grumbled.  
“Because of the pack meeting.”  
“Fuck!”  
Stiles tried to spring up from the couch but forgot his legs were entangled with Derek’s. He ended up with his ass on the floor with a thunk! Derek looks down on him, an inscrutable expression on his face.  
“How much time before they’re here?”  
“Maybe thirty seconds.”  
“What? How??”  
“They’re parked outside.”  
Stiles flung himself up from the floor and started running towards the bathroom. “Why do you always do this? I know you could hear them from a mile away.” He shouted.  
Slamming through the bathroom door, he switched the water on. He ran it through his hair, hoping desperately that it would look less amok. Them, he grabbed the spray and soaked himself in it like he was a pre-teen again with his first can of axe spray. His dad had threatened to run over his laptop if he continued using it. Hopefully, the pack wouldn’t be too angry with him for flooding their noses with the scent of ‘Vanilla Mint.’ Ideally, they’d think he had bowel troubles and not that he’d been cuddling with Derek for the past two hours. Although, he’s not actually sure which is worse.   
He shuffled out of the bathroom, only to run directly into Derek.   
“You’re just so cute when you’re frazzled.” He punctuated the point with a quick kiss before turning back down the hallway to enter the living room filled with shouting pack members. Stiles stood with a small smile centered on his face. He’s sure that if anyone had entered the hallway at that moment, they would have seen him glowing.   
\---  
A phone rang, interrupting Derek.   
Looking apologetically at him, Stiles stood up, turned his back to the pack, and shuffled a few steps away. He knew there was no possible distance he could cover in a minute which would prevent them from hearing him, but he needed the comfort of pretense.  
“Hey kiddo. I’ll be off early tonight.”  
Again?  
“I thought you were supposed to work ‘till seven?”  
A tense sigh filtered through the static, “You know I’ve been feeling off lately. I got so nauseas coming into work this morning.”   
“Haven’t you been feeling sick all week?”   
He knew he had. Sometimes he never heard his dad go upstairs to sleep. And coming home early had become more and more prevalent in the past month.   
“Don’t worry about me Stiles, it seems to fade when I’m at home anyway.”  
Stiles stayed silent. Did his dad even recognize what was happening?   
After a minute, his dad piped up again: “So, I was wondering what you were thinking for dinner?”  
“Listen Dad, I won’t be home until late tonight,” he hesitated, trying to frantically run through his mind for an excuse. He remembered what Scott had said before lacrosse earlier. “I’ve gotta tutor Scott for his math quiz tomorrow.”  
He heard a scoff, “I somehow doubt you guys are going to be studying so much.”  
“Ah you got me Pops, should’ve known you’d see through our thinly veiled plan to play video games all night.”  
“Son, I’m your Dad I know everything about you. Everything.” Yeah, everything. Except for werewolves, Derek, Stiles not eating or sleeping right, and his own mounting alcohol problem. Those are all little things though.  
“Just make sure you take care of yourself tonight.”  
His dad sighed through the phone. Stiles knew he was undoubtedly rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Parrish, “I mean if you aren’t there all rules are off the table. I promise there will be at least one vegetable.”  
Yes, he was talking about eating healthy, what else?  
From there he quickly ended the phone call and went back into the pack circle. Although the pack had been talking quietly amongst themselves, he knew they had been secretly listening in. Especially since Derek was looking at him weird, but what else is new? He let himself be physically immersed into the conversation, but his mind was miles away following his father.  
This was the third time his dad had gone home early in the past two weeks. It wasn’t as if there had been a sudden decrease in crime, Stiles and the packs frequent involvement in the night life of Beacon Hills was certainly testament to that.  
While Derek resumed discussing Jackson’s looming ghost problem with the pack, Scott leaned over to whisper to Stiles, “So studying?” he said with a quirk of his lips.   
Stiles looked guiltily down at the floor while picking at the carpet fibers. He felt like he’d been lying to everyone recently. Scott was his best friend, Derek was his… something? It just felt like a betrayal.   
“Yeah, I just can’t be around my Dad right now.”  
Scott grimaced, “I get it dude. I’ve been feeling really guilty being around my mom recently. I know she knows something is up, especially with me being out after curfew so often and sneaking around. But what else is there to do? No way she’d let us do this crazy shit otherwise.”  
Stiles sighed, “Yeah.”   
“But don’t worry! You can totally come to mine and help me study.”  
Better to let him assume then know what was really going on. God knows he had enough shit to deal with already. Why pile on something else that wasn’t necessary for him to care about.   
Stiles murmured a quick thanks and turned away. Looking back down at the floor, Stiles didn’t notice the insistent stare coming from Derek.  
\---  
At midnight, Stiles rumbled into the driveway with Roscoe. He knew he was an hour past curfew, but it was unlikely his dad would notice. He tiredly stumbled up the sidewalk. To his confusion, the door was open.  
Upon entering room, his eyes locked on the figure sprawled on the coach. Hearing the door open, his dad’s head slowly turns to observe the person in the doorway. The person. There was not a glimpse of recognition in his eyes: no anger at being home past curfew, no relief at him being okay, not even the barest “hello.”  
Nonetheless, Stiles pretended to waltz over to the coach and plopped down next to his father.  
“Hello my darling daddio!”  
His dad grunted in response, following the obvious effort of making his first noise in hours by parching his thirst.   
Stiles launched into a rant, trying to fill the silence: “Wow thanks for asking dad, my day was great. I payed attention in all my classes, I know, I know what a surprise, no detention for once in my life! But I’ll have you know I’ve actually been doing very well, probably because I don’t have Scott around to influence me. I always told you he was the one influencing me! He’s the one who wanted to steal Mrs. Walker’s pomerian and teach it to skateboard, and try to fly off the roof with cardboard wings, and when we made cookies with… bourbon instead of vanilla.”  
His Dad hadn’t looked at him the entire time he was talking but tore his eyes from the tv when he mentioned the bourbon.  
Stiles sat up on the coach, stiff as a board. His hands wrung together, slightly clammy in his anxiety. He closed his eyes and spoke in a soft tone, “You can’t hide it this time dad. I’m not ten anymore.”  
He heard a sigh and heard a gruff, “It’s fine, Stiles.”  
Looking at him, he saw his dad using his hand to massage the stress lines between his eyebrows. Stiles felt his throat closing up, “I…I… just,” he swallowed, refusing to let himself get choked up, “I just can’t go through this again Dad. You know what happened last time.”  
“Stiles I thought we were past this. You know I went to anger management and therapy after,” his face paled, “after Claudia.”  
“Okay you were fine for a while, but now? I can’t see you like this Dad.”  
“When do you ever see me anymore anyway?” he countered, with a sour expression on his face.  
Stiles hesitated, “You can’t say that Dad, it’s not fair.”  
He saw his father tense before gritting his teeth, like an MMA fighter before they were about to make a solid punch. “It’s not fair? It’s not fair.” He launched himself up from the couch. “It’s not fair, Stiles?”  
Stiles could feel himself curling inwards. He tried to say something, anything, but words refused to come out.  
“You know what isn’t fair Stiles? What isn’t fair is having to tell a family their son is dead from a car crash. What isn’t fair is expecting to come home and spend some time with your family, except, wait, your wife is dead, and for some reason your son thinks he’s too good for you anymore. And you do this every day, and the weight just keeps getting heavier and heavier, except there is no relief and it just never ends.”  
A moment of silence seizes the air, electricity seeming to crackle around his dad. Stiles hesitantly stands, reaching out towards his dad. But his dad keeps going, shouting now, “You don’t get to tell me what isn’t fair Stiles. You don’t get to tell me!”  
His Dad’s movements were getting more and more hectic, the bottle in his hand swinging dangerously around. He put his hands up in a pacifying gesture, whilst simultaneously trying to pick his moment to reach for the bottle. He didn’t want his dad to hurt himself. If anything happened to him; he couldn’t even bear the thought.  
Suddenly, he saw his moment. He hurled himself towards his dad’s arm, attempting to knock the bottle out of his grip. He didn’t see what was going to happen until it was too late.  
“Don’t tell me-!”  
Smack  
Stiles didn’t feel it at first. Glass shards flew in all directions smacking against the floor, furniture. Making small gentle plinks as they collided with the innocent whole bottles still propped up against the base of the coach. His father’s face had frozen, but a look of abject horror slowly began to appear.  
He stammered, “Stiles, I…I… Fuck. Fuck!” He walked away from Stiles towards the kitchen.  
Stiles stood stock still, unable to process the moment. It felt like blood was rushing through his ears, like he couldn’t quite process the noise from around him. But then he saw it. A single blood drop, sitting pristinely, purely, on the wood floor beneath him. And then another, and another. And then he felt it, the warmth flowing down from his forehead, a sharp pain suddenly hit him, as time seemed to again… flow. He collapsed down to his knees; he had promised. He had promised it would never happen again, not again. Not again. Not again. And then tears were streaming alongside the blood, blending together until he couldn’t discern the difference.   
He simply sat on the ground with his head bent inward, quietly mourning. He only looked up when he heard his dad’s footsteps approaching. And he saw the remorse on his face, he did. But he also saw that while his left hand held a clean cloth, his right held a new drink.   
He refused to sit by and wait for this to happen again. He stood up and ripped the cloth from his dad’s hands, ignoring the gaze he felt pressing into him. Wiping under his eyes, he turned his body away from his father.   
A stammer, “Stiles wait, I’m sorry I couldn’t control it, it was too quick, you shouldn’t have stepped in, I-“  
Stiles walked away and out the door, closing it behind him.   
And in the renewed darkness of the room, everything was as it was before. The tv screen still flickered in the background, it’s sound like a constant white noise. The multitude of glass bottles remained while the door slammed shut. Once again, the prison was locked with its sole prisoner inside.   
His father shuddered, closed his eyes, and took another drink.   
\---  
He ended up at Derek’s, but he couldn’t seem to work up the courage to go in. The car had been idling in the driveway for at least fifteen minutes. Realistically, Stiles knew he had to go in. The pounding from his head was getting harder and the blood flow didn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon. His rag was practically soaked by this point.   
But he was scared. Terrified. Admitting he needed help had always been a sore spot for him. And to admit that to Derek, that he was the weak little human in need of help… he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. He had to be strong, because nobody else could be strong for him. Pulling the parking brake down, Stiles shifted from neutral into reverse. Just as he was lifting up on the clutch, his gaze flickered across a shadow standing outside of Derek’s railroad bunker. A bulky shadow. A Derek shaped shadow.  
Stile’s glanced down, of course Derek would know he was here, he had probably heard him arrive. Why couldn’t he think straight? Of course he would have heard him arrive; god was he an idiot? How could he not consider that? Fuck, why did he come here? He could have taken care of this alone.  
A rapping on the window interrupted his thoughts. “Roll down the window Stiles.”  
Turning to face the window, Stiles instinctively relaxed as he caught sight of Derek under the garage light. On the contrary, Derek tensed. And then growled.   
“Stiles get out of the car. Now.”  
He turned off the ignition, and the car idled. Stiles hesitated, but it was too late for hesitation. Derek practically ripped the door off its hinges hauling Stiles from the vehicle. Stiles stumbled from the tall jump, barely managing to land on his feet. When had everything started moving?  
“Can you walk?” A strong grip incessantly pressed into his bicep, giving him a gentle shake when his head began to loll to the side with his eyes closed.   
Derek’s voice became frantic, “Stiles? Stiles, I need you to stay awake for me babe, please. You have too.” He felt himself be swept into Derek’s arms, cradled to his chest like a baby. Normally, Stiles would have argued, but he had a feeling Derek would smite him if he said anything along those lines right now. If he thought, he could say anything right now. He laid his head against Derek’s chest and closed his eyes for a second. Just a second. There was no sound, just the brief feeling vibrating through Derek’s chest.   
\---  
When he came to, he was definitely not against Derek. This was way to squishy to be an overly buff grown man. The room was entirely dark, as if Derek hadn’t even taken the time to turn on the lights in his rush. If he strained, he could here the brief sounds of fumbling followed by swears. Stiles propped himself up on the coach. What had happened again?  
He groaned as he stretched his arms above his head, preparing to stand up. He felt a weird jolt on the right side of his head, but figured it was nothing. He began to shuffle to his feet when he heard a voice from down the hall.   
“Stiles?”  
Going from sitting to standing had never made him this dizzy before. He swayed briefly on his feet, noticing his eyesight become black and spotty as he inhaled. He dropped his hand down to the coffee table in front of him, trying to understand his surroundings. The light switch should only be a couple feet to the right of him, by the front closet. It would take nothing but a few steps, a few measly steps. Shaking, he took a hesitant step forward, managing to distance him from the table. His head began pounding. Another step, now his hands were shaking, but at least his vision was back. Another step, and he could feel the wall. He collapsed his body weight against it, pressing against it with his hand trying to find the switch. With a flick, he sighed. Finally.  
Wait, why was there blood on his hand?  
“Stiles!”  
He turned. Oh, Derek was in the kitchen. He lips were pressed together and his eyes were wide. He looked like death warmed over. Or was that him?  
Derek firmly puts something on the table before stalking towards Stiles. It felt like one second he’s halfway across the room then, suddenly, right in front of him. He tried to make eye contact, but his eyelids were so heavy…  
A hand cradling his cheek brings his attention back. Derek is staring at him, but it doesn’t look as if he’s seeing him. Something clouds his eyes, a certain darkness. He seems to be overtly focusing on the side of his head. Stiles brings his hand up to feel the side of his head, but Derek gently constrains his wrist.   
He motions with his head to the side, “You need to sit down again Stiles.”  
Derek is already guiding him back to the couch, “What happened?” Stiles asks.  
Derek hesitates, “You tell me.”  
“I don’t know.”  
Derek sighed, and gently propped him against the mauve pillow Stiles had made him get (just to add any hint of color to Derek’s grim black and grey theme).   
He presses lightly down onto Stiles’ forearm, “Please don’t get up again, okay?”  
Oh. There’s worry is in his eyes.  
Stiles does a slight nod.   
Derek quickly rushes back to the table, grabbing his tweezers, gauze, alcohol, and tissues. Somehow, he makes it back to the couch without dropping any of the items and God does Stiles wish he wasn’t cursed to be a walking mess of a person. Derek haphazardly dumps the items onto the coffee table, eyes rushing over every aspect of Stile’s character.   
“I need…I need to get the glass out of your face.”  
Stiles’ eyebrows drop in confusion, but in doing so he feels a sharp shift of something -glass- in his face. He winces.  
Derek drops down to his knees on the carpet before him. He twists to grab the tweezers. He pauses for a second just looking at Stiles. His hands are shaking, it looks as if he can barely even hold the tweezers properly. Stiles lowers both his hands and lightly holds the outside of Derek’s rough hands.   
“I’m okay, Derek. I’m okay. I’m here.”  
Derek lets out a shuttered breath. “I just, what if you weren’t?” He closes his eyes and looks as if he’s fighting something within himself. Trying to keep something in, but losing, “What if you weren’t alright? What would I do without you?”  
There are no sounds heard from outside, nothing sounds through the room except for Stiles’ quiet breathing.   
“Everybody I’ve ever cared about has disappeared from my life. My entire family, destroyed, Laura murdered. I can’t do it again. I used to torture myself over how I couldn’t do something to save them, and now I can’t save you. What if it was worse and you weren’t hear right now? What would I do? Where would I be? I can’t, I can’t-“  
His breathing had picked up and his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked to be in so much pain, and Stiles couldn’t bare it, not with this man he had grown to love.   
“Derek, look at me.” There was a moment of hesitation, before Derek opened his eyes. Tears had collected along his lash line, and Stiles’ heart broke. “I won’t leave. I am right here, and I promise, I promise. I am not leaving anytime soon. Okay?”  
Derek gives him a hard nod and a faint smile, before tearing his eyes away to look down at his hands. They stay like for a minute, letting Derek take deep breaths. Finally, his hands have stopped shaking.  
“I already cleaned up the blood on your face, but you have glass shards still stuck around your eyebrow. Can you stay still for me?”  
Stiles finally relaxed back into the chair. His headache had been progressively been getting worse throughout the past five minutes. He let himself lie back but couldn’t seem to make his body relax. He watched as the tweezers got closer and closer and he felt his muscles get tighter and tighter. When it grasped one of the bigger pieces of glass nestled directly under the arch of his eyebrow he flinched. Derek quickly grabbed his hand and gently rubbed his thumb across Stiles’ knuckles.   
Sighing, Stiles allowed himself to sink into the coach cushion. He settled in, only flinching every time the tweezers sharply pulled the glass from his unforgiving cuts. But with Derek consistently rubbing his thumb along his hand, Stiles felt safe held in his hands.   
When all the glass had been removed, Derek poured the alcohol onto a tissue. Stiles winced as he began dabbing at the cut.   
As they sat immersed in the silence, Stiles could do nothing but think. It felt like something was trying to push into his brain from the outside, threatening to overtake the precarious silence. A flash of a memory would appear, but then disappear like a ribbon in the wind. Stiles could almost hear the rushing of wind in his mind, emphasizing the hollow cavern.   
With the wound clean, they sat for a few precious moments. The hold Derek had on his wrist was the only thing tethering him in this fragile state.   
“Do I even want to remember?” whispered Stiles. Whatever it was, it had to be traumatic, could he handle it?   
“I didn’t want to remember anything, after the fire. I tried to block it on for weeks following it. For me, it was like the world was empty of everything I loved, and now my mind was trying to suffocate me when I already felt like I was drowning.”   
His hand tightened briefly around Stiles’ wrist. “But the only way to stop drowning is to acknowledge the problem and swim to the light.”  
Stiles grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. He had been afraid of hearing that. After all the shit he’d been through, he didn’t know if he wanted to face this too.   
He startled as Derek gently cradled his face, opening his eyes to stare into Derek’s hazel.   
“But it has to be your choice. Just know I’ve been there, and I’ll be here. For you.”  
Stiles slowly moved forward and captured Derek’s lips in a kiss. It was slow, simply a recognition and a thank you. Perhaps even an I love you.   
When they separated, they pressed their foreheads together. “Can we go over it tomorrow? I think I just want to forget about for tonight.” Said Stiles.   
“But I promise, I’ll talk about it with you.”  
Derek face grew into a soft smile, the one he only occasionally shared. Stiles burned it into his mind, into a collection of moments he titled ‘Derek being precious.’   
“Of course,” said Derek.  
\---  
Stiles woke to a pitch-black room lying on top of Derek. For a second, he thought they were in his own room before he felt the vague throbbing coming from his head.   
Fuck.  
He scrambled up from Derek’s lap, uncaring if the hulking man woke up. Stiles needed to get water. He focused on it, the scratchiness of his throat, the tightness which could only be quenched by drinking a gallon of it. Anything was better than the looming darkness of the thoughts he felt in the back of his head.  
He stumbled to the fridge and quickly grabbed a glass from the second cupboard. He drank one glass, then two, then took the third over to the wooden table sitting in front of the window which overlooked the forest behind them.   
He sat crisscross apple sauce, finding comfort in the familiar position curled into himself. His eyes were locked on the darkness. It felt like the first time in a while he was completely alone, only barren to himself. A place where no judgement was, and he could just mourn. Mourn for the father who had died with his mother. The one who’s focus was entirely on his family, undistracted by other comforts.   
But afterwards it was hard to determine if his dad was ever truly listening.   
Tears streamed down his face and were only acknowledged when he felt Derek wipe one away with his finger. Stiles was frozen, unable to even jump in fright. Upon noticing Derek’s presence, he finally noticed the tremors quaking through his hands, and tightened them around the cup in resolution.  
When he began to talk it felt like he was merely baring his secrets to the darkness, instead of baring them to the world.   
“He used to be such a good Dad,” Stiles began.   
“Him and my mom were like a power duo, always one step in front of me. They just worked ya know? Like clockwork. I think when she died it stopped a gear, and suddenly the whole system fell apart. He had been so desperate for her to get better, but I think she always knew it was her time. She left me a letter in my side table by my bed for after she died. And she said she loved me? And knew he did too and would take care of me. I still can’t decide if she was having one of her episodes when she wrought it. But maybe he really did love me back then”  
Stiles voice hiccupped, and he struggled to start talking again: “He didn’t try. I think I reminded him to much of her and he turned away from me, his only son, when I was struggling too, and he just kept drinking and drinking when all I wanted was my dad. I just wanted to hug him and cry and be comforted but one night he got so angry and yelled at me and the bottle was so loud crashing against the wall.”  
Stiles choked on his own breath, and he could practically feel the tenseness vibrating off Derek. “He never hit me, never did, not until now. I tried so hard to change myself back then to be the opposite of her, to erase everything of myself that could possibly trigger him. I tried to take care of him, because maybe then he’d tell me he loved me like she always used too. So I learned to cook, and I cleaned, and I got perfect grades, and I hid his precious alcohol,” he said with a sneer.   
“And I thought he got better for a little while, but now I realize his tolerance had just adjusted, because it’s gotten bad again, and I feel like I’m reverting into that needy little ten year old boy again, and, and he hit me.”  
“He hit me, and you only hurt those you hate.”  
Stiles tore his eyes from the window and locked them with Derek’s. They glimmered in the moonlight, filled with the tears which had been building up for years which he had never let fall.   
“But I don’t blame him, because if I can’t fix the broken gear, then I don’t really deserve to be loved.”  
“That’s not how love works, Stiles."  
Derek hesitated, drawing in a deep breath, “You don’t need to prove your worthy of love.”  
“So, what, is everyone just deserving of love? Does Hitler deserve love? Mussolini? Lenin?”  
Derek huffed, “You can’t compare yourself to a dictator for the love of God.”  
“Derek it just doesn’t make sense! You can’t insist I’m inherently worthy. I must’ve been doing something wrong! I must not be good enough because otherwise I never had a chance in the first place.” Stiles couldn’t bear to think the alternative.   
Silence permeated through the space between them.  
“After it burned, I blamed myself.”  
Stiles stilled. He couldn’t be talking about, “The house? Your house?”  
He heard Derek shift his weight, obviously uncomfortable. Yet he continued with his recollection, “I blamed myself, because my entire family had burned, and how could it be anyone’s fault but mine? I hadn’t noticed the truth; I hadn’t been quick enough to save them… I hadn’t made her love me enough.”  
Derek saw Stiles’ face morph into shock. “But she manipulated you. You were just a kid and…”  
Derek shrugged, “So are you.”  
Stiles’ face froze, “It’s different.”  
“Explain it to me.”  
“She was never someone who was supposed to love you. Aren’t fathers wired to love their sons? If I had just been better maybe- “  
Derek cut him off, “Would you say that to Isaac?”  
“God no,” said Stiles, “but his dad’s an abusive asshole, mine’s just- “  
“An alcoholic. With abusive tendencies.”  
“Don’t say that.”  
“What the truth?”  
“It’s more complicated than that.”  
“How so? He drinks every night, I know he does, I hear him clanking those bottles downstairs when I spend the night. Your tense when you talk to him, like you’re afraid of being struck.”  
“My and Isaac’s situations are completely different, he was physically abused for years. I’ve only been hit once. Who knows, maybe I was even egging him on.”  
“All I see is two sons who have both been manipulated for years by their fathers’ issues. Was Isaac not good enough? Did he not do enough to be worthy?”  
“No.”  
“So, what’s the difference then Stiles. Tell me how in the hell your dad having a problem is in anyway your fault.”  
Stiles felt himself deflate in the chair. He was too tired for this. Too tired to reconsider the truth he’s convinced himself of for years, to consider how his dad had a problem, and it wasn’t him.  
“I, I can’t do this right now Derek.”   
He laid his head down onto the table, feeling too overwhelmed to move. Looking out into the forest, he noticed the moon had finally emerged from behind the tree line. The new moon had been a couple days prior, and it was now a waning crescent.   
“I just want someone to love me unconditionally,” whispered Stiles.  
Derek sighed and moved forward to drop down into the chair next to Stiles. He propped his head on top of Stiles’ back and they both looked out into the newly illuminated darkness.   
Derek began lightly feathering his hands through Stiles’ hair. It reminded Stiles of his mom comforting him at night before he went to bed.   
“You’ll find someone, Stiles. Because I promise that you deserve it.”


End file.
